Tender Touches
by britchick
Summary: [Futurefic] Luke considers Grace. Set in the Strangers on a Plane Universe, but much earlier. (One-shot)


A/N: Thanks agin to Bean12 for the beta. I don't own any of this, as much as I wish I did.

This is dedicated to roverjj for possibly the most detailed review ever. It's kind words like that that keep me writing through awful writers block.

Tender Touches

Luke had been lying there for a few hours now, but to him it felt like only a few seconds had passed. He'd been married to Grace for a couple of months now, and this was by no means the first time they'd had what his parents had called an early night.

This was Grace, the same girl he'd first dated age 15, but here he was 10 years later and for some reason she looked more beautiful than he'd ever seen her look before. Her skin was somehow not just the beautiful pale ivory that he was used to seeing, but luminous. It seemed to give off some kind of glow. The shadows from the street lamp played off her bare back, highlighting the slender curve of her back where she was wrapped around a pillow.

Luke had never considered himself a poetic person. Grace was the writer, and a successful one at that. But at this moment he saw the attraction of words. There was no scientific analogy that could explain what he was seeing at this moment. It wasn't like fusion, although even though they weren't touching he felt closer than he ever had to Grace. It was… It was pure beauty in its rawest form.

The wind blew outside and the shadows cast on Grace's back shifted. Each bump of her spine was highlighted in turn. Her shoulder blades were casting deep pools of shadow. Her body was slender, but not too thin. His eyes traced down her back to where her body disappeared beneath the covers, her hips just beginning to be visible. She wasn't curved like some women were, but her body held a kind of soft strength that he wouldn't give up for anything.

Grace's face was buried in a pillow, her body slightly curved as she lay half on her front, but part on her side. Her arms were sprawled above her head, clinging to the top of the pillow like it would bring her some kind of protection from the world. Even in sleep she refused to completely give up her defenses, built up through years of pain that no matter how hard he tried, Luke could neither understand nor erase.

The defenses she clung to from force of habit hadn't stopped her from relaxing. He couldn't see her face, half covered by her hair, half smushed by the pillow. But Luke had known Grace long enough to see the other signs, the ones only he knew. Her shoulders were loose and fluid. It wasn't like in the day when they hunched slightly, her posture pulling her forward, head slightly bent as if walking into a strong wind, prepared to take any hits thrown at her. Her legs were stretched out straight, with one foot sticking out of the bottom where the comforter had been pulled out of place by their earlier activity. When she had the occasional nightmare that many thousands of dollars of therapy bills had refused to kick, she curled up tight in a ball. It was like she was reverting back to a fetal position, to the safe place from before her life began. But tonight she seemed to be free of the nighttime visions that plagued her from time to time.

Their earlier fun seemed to have exhausted her. Normally she was a restless sleeper, kicking and moving about. To tell the truth, it sometimes drove Luke a little crazy, and he'd had more bruises than he could count when she accidentally kicked him hard on the legs. He'd never tell her though, that would be too cruel. Tonight she was still, except for the steady rise and fall of her back as she breathed in and out.

She looked so heartbreakingly perfect, like something out of a painting by a master. Growing up with an artist for a mom he'd seen more than his fair share of great works of art. The were beautiful, and even his scientific mind could see the perfection, the composition, the symmetry, even if he had no idea how to create one. But this was… just more. This was beauty in reality. This was his. This was something he could touch.

He reached out and lightly ran his hand along her spine. The part open window had lent a chill to the air of their bedroom, but her skin had retained its warmth. He would have called it smooth as silk, but it wasn't. There were patches of skin that were a little dry, but these imperfections where all part of what made it so wonderful. Reality was never perfect, but it wouldn't be real if it were.

He lightly ran his fingers down her spine, from the nape of her neck to where her hips disappeared. He could have followed it further, reaching under the covers, but somehow that seamed wrong, like the marriage of the sight and feel of his wife would be destroyed.

Grace shivered involuntarily and muttered something indiscriminate into the pillow. Luke took this as a sign to try and get some sleep. He wrapped himself around Grace and placed a soft kiss on the back of her neck.

They weren't the perfect couple. They didn't always agree on everything. In fact, they disagreed about at least one thing every day. But it was moments like this that made Luke realize with incredible clarity why it was all worth it. Grace worried that she'd develop an addiction like her mother, Luke worried that he would never truly be good enough for her, but they understood each other like nobody else possibly could. The two years they had spent apart had brought sharply into focus why they belonged together, and it wasn't complicated. They simply fit. They pushed each other to be the best they could possibly be. They inspired each other.

But that was a head thing. That was what other people saw. This was what was real. The fact that in the middle of the night he could simply watch her sleep and revel in her beauty, even after 10 years. This was the heart thing. This was the real love.


End file.
